


The Beast in the Black Forest

by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: Belle doesn’t think its too much to ask that she make her own decisions, which is how she finds herself in the Black Forest at night, hunting the thing that’s been terrorizing her village.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HandwithQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandwithQuill/gifts).



> Written for the RSS gift exchange.
> 
> I know nothing about anything (vampires included).

He remembers the pain.

This is what Rumplestiltskin thinks as he wakes in the forest, face in the weeds and twigs caught in his sorry excuse for a cloak: there was so much pain. There is weak sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves above him. The sun is setting, and he squints in the dying light.

Carefully, he rises to his knees, and then there is a second thought in his head: _where did the pain go_?

* * *

Rumplestiltskin will be born a son while he dies on the battlefield.

So he was told by a girl in a cage.

He doesn’t think twice when he raises the hammer.

* * *

He rises to his knees and he brushes the twigs from his cloak. He is not sore from sleeping on the ground, is not cold despite the wear of his clothes, and surely his stomach is empty, but he doesn’t feel the grip of hunger.

Carefully, Rumplestiltskin stands. He’s knees don’t buckle and his ankle—his ankle feels as it did when he marched into camp, only a handful of days ago. He stands and stares at his feet, wondering if this is a miracle delivered to him by the Blue Fairy herself, or merely a fever dream. Maybe he’s gone crazy, contracted an infection and these are his last moments alive.

Yes, that’s most likely: he’s dying and he won’t ever see his son.

He swallows, nearly sinking into despair at the thought of his boy being left fatherless after all. Then he swallows again. His mouth is dry, his throat like treebark.

Rumplestiltskin is thirsty.

* * *

He decides to walk until he tires, then he’ll find what shelter he can among the trees and underbrush. Hopefully he’ll find a stream along the way to quench his thirst, or maybe a bush full of berries. If this is truly a fever dream, then there’s nothing to lose. If it’s reality, then any explanation he hopes to find comes second to meeting his son.

He walks through the night, led on by the sounds of crickets and the hooting of owls. He walks a couple hours, keeping an eye on the moon and the stars (it’s comforting to pretend he knows anything about how to find his way by looking up at the steadfast lights). His thirst is always present in his mind, and he listens for the sounds of a stream. Instead, in the darkness he spies a bush full of blueberries, fruit round and ripe.

He throws back a handful into his mouth, eager to quench some of his thirst. His teeth bite into the plump berries and he nearly spits them back out. Instead of the cool, sweet juice he was expecting, he tastes only ash.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin is not tired when he stumbles across the old man. The sun is just starting to crest, the sky paleing and he is not hungry, despite how he has walked all night.

And yet.

The old man, bedroll firm in his hands as he ties the string, the fire from his breakfast still smoldering, smells like a feast, like fresh baked bread and shepherd’s pie, like something warm and sweet and filling and Rumplestiltskin’s teeth are sinking into the old man’s throat and he’s swallowing something _warm_ and _sweet_ and _filling_ in great big gulps, pulling at the flesh in his mouth like it’s second nature.

The old man jerks, trying to free himself, and Rumple’s teeth rip out of his neck and the blood splatters. Rumple laps it up, unwilling to waste a single drop.

The old man goes limp, his eyes turning dull and opaque, and Rumple is no longer thirsty.

* * *

He is in the weeds again, trying to force his cursed body to retch, bent double and clawing at his hair, his neck, his full belly, as if expelling what he has taken will undo what he has done.

A sob pushes its way out his throat and he keens, pushing his face into the dirt and begging whatever God is listening for forgiveness.

The blood that isn’t in his stomach is staining his tunic, is drying and cracking on his chin. He can still taste it on his tongue, and it disgusts him that he swallows the taste readily.

Rumple has heard whispers of creatures that live in the forest. Things that hunt at night and leave nothing behind but cold, shriveled bodies and empty beds. Tall-tales and legends meant to scare children into obeying their parents and from going out at night.

He sobs, alone and lost in the forest, wondering at why he must be punished for loving his son too much.

* * *

* * *

The trees were thickening around her, the undergrowth becoming denser, and even before she made it to the crossroads that she had supposed to come across half a mile ago, Belle knew she was lost.

In hindsight, it wasn’t a surprise. She had never set foot outside the village gates before, much less the outskirts of the Black Forest, and the map she dug out of the archives was old. Belle had assumed that maps of forests and the roads therein couldn’t become outdated, and it was frankly rather discomforting to see that she had assumed wrong.

“Even I can see that’s it foolhardy to push any harder,” Belle said to her horse, Philippe.

Philippe said nothing.

Belle sighed as she dismounted and started to lead him off the road. She could at least look for somewhere to sleep tonight, and try again in the morning. With the sun going down, the woods would be impossible to navigate even if Belle had any idea of where they were headed. The trees were already casting long shadows, and Belle figured she had only about half an hour at most of daylight left.

“I should have just struck a deal with the sheriff,” Belle told Philippe. “We were already lost! What was the harm? He of all people should know the area,” she grumbled, holding the reins steady. “But no, I just had to trust my gut and decide he was too much of a creep.”

Philippe kept his opinion to himself.

Belle pushed past several bushes, sweeping aside coiling branches of trees as she trudged on through the forest. She smiled when she reached a clearing that was wide enough to accommodate her and her horse.

“Look at that,” she said as she tied off the reins to a low-hanging branch. “See? There’s nothing wrong with my gut after all.”

Belle hummed happily to herself as she set up her camp. Not even the forty-one minute delay in lighting her fire (but who was counting) could dampen her spirits. The lack of a fire paired with the sun being firmly set did make her shiver though, and Belle sighed as she pulled her blanket tighter against her shoulders as she sat down.

The fire crackled, and Belle slowly warmed up. She found herself wishing, not for the first time, that she had been able to train Philippe to lay down next to her like she’d read all the horses do in books. When she had first suggested it to her father, he had called the idea “ridiculous” and that she wouldn’t ever be in such a place where is was “practical.”

It showed what he knew, didn’t it? There she was in a pair of trousers she liberated from one of the fieldhands, an old pair of riding boots, next to a crackling fire and still cold because she couldn’t lean against her horse.

“We’ll make do, won’t we, Philippe?” Belle asked, glancing over to where the her trusty steed was dozing, reins still tied to the branch.

Just as Belle was about to go digging for her book, she heard a branch snap behind her. She startled and whirled around, but saw only the shadows the trees wore like cloaks. She moved slightly to the side, hoping maybe the light of the fire would stretch far enough to illuminate something, but no success.

Just as she was about to turn back around, she heard a far-off grunt, like the sound of someone having the wind knocked out of them.

Belle frowned. There was still nothing to be seen from where she was sitting—just complete and utter darkness ( _The Black Forest is so deep and dense that the moonlight can’t reach it_ , she had read, _and on cloudy days, it might as well be night_ ). She let the blanket fall away as she stood.

There was a sound from behind her again, but this time it was a cough. Belle whipped around, hand going towards the small dagger she kept at her belt, but saw only a young boy, a few feet back from her fire.

“Oh,” she said, relaxing. “You startled me.”

“Yeah, you too.” He laughed self consciously. “You startled me too, I mean.”

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Are you lost?” Belle asked, stepping closer. The hairs were starting to rise along the back of her neck, and her hands were starting to shake, but surely that was just from the cold. She had taken off the blanket, after all.

“Lost? Uh, not really. I mean, I was with—my papa, but—I mean, uhm…”

He trailed off nervously. Belle thought he might have looked familiar, or at least sounded like she had heard him before. It was hard to tell since she couldn’t see him clearly.

Belle looked back behind her, where she had heard the noises. “Is your papa lost, then?”

“Oh, no.”

“What’s your name?” Belle asked after he failed to elaborate. She was thinking about the noise she had heard, what must have been a man being knocked down. It hadn’t sounded far away.

There was a long pause before he said, quietly, “Baelfire.”

“Baelfire. Alright.” The name didn’t sound familiar. “Do you know where you’re papa is now?”

Another pause, and then, “Yeah.”

Belle looked back behind her. There was no sound, no moans of agony or pain. There wasn’t even the sound of the wind brushing through the trees, or twigs underfoot.

She turned back to the boy. “Are you…okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “I saw your fire. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Belle wasn’t sure what to say to that.

She had been told the stories of the Black Forest. Everyone grew up hearing them. The cook had loved to regale her with tales of the mysterious creatures only seen after nightfall, and the mysterious circumstances in which travelers disappeared.

Belle wondered if maybe she had made a mistake by straying from the main road.

“Why don’t we sit down? Best we keep warm, hm?” she asked, stepping back towards her fire. She went to where she dropped her blanket and picked it up, holding it out to Baelfire. “It’s fine,” she said when the boy remained standing where he was.

Hesitantly, he took a step closer, and Belle held her breath until he had sat down and she was able to drape the blanket over his shoulders.

“There, isn’t that better?”

The boy nodded, and Belle was able to take her good first look at him in the firelight. He was older than she first assumed, maybe fourteen, with shaggy brown hair and a serious face that belied his youth. His clothes were patched and frayed, but they looked thick enough that she needn’t worry about him keeping warm.

“You come to the market sometimes, don’t you?” Belle asked, finally placing him. “I’ve seen you barter at the food stalls.” Last time she had seen him, he had been haggling for a whole sack of potatoes and a bushel of carrots, and been doing a good job of it, too.

Baelfire looked at her, clearly surprised at being recognized. He studied her face like she had his, and then the surprise was only growing and he lept to his feet.

“Lady Belle!” he exclaimed, before dropping into a hasty bow, blanket falling. “Forgive me, I didn’t recognize you without a book.”

Belle couldn’t help but smile at that. “It’s quite alright; I’m sure that’s not all that’s different about me tonight.”

“My lady,” he said, enunciating each word clearly. “What are you doing here?”

“I lost my way and decided to make camp for the night.”

The boy looked at her, mouth open and eyes incredulous. “You went off the road in a place that’s called the Black Forest? At night?”

Belle flushed. “I was hardly the one to name it.” Belle wrapped her arms around her torso. She knew she should feed another log into the fire before it burned too low but she didn’t feel up to leaving what little heat she was near.

Baelfire had been watching her critically, and quickly held out the blanket for her to take.

“No, I gave it to you,” she said.

“I can see you shivering. Please, my lady, I’m fine.”

Belle accepted with a sigh. She’d offer to share, to wrap up together, but she had the feeling that if she did he would take off. He was acting so skittish, his eyes darting from the flames to her face then out into the black woods. It was entirely at odds with the confident boy from the market she remembered.

“Why are you out here? Really?” he asked again.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories,” Belle said haltingly. “There’s been a beast terrorizing the village, and he’s said to live here, in the Black Forest.” Her lip twitched. “And yes, I’m out alone after sunset, but women have always been said to be safe in the forest. And children,” she was quick to assure.

“Safe?”

“It’s only men who have been disappearing.”

“Oh,” he said. His eyebrows drew together into an unreadable expression. “I guess you’re right. I never noticed that.” Baelfire looked at her sharply. “It doesn’t mean you’re safe though. That could just be coincidence.”

Her father would have been proud of his scolding tone.

“It’d make my task easier if the beast did find me.”

“Your task?” the boy asked her suspiciously.

Belle sighed. “My father will give my hand in marriage to whoever is able to defeat the beast that resides here,” Belle scowled. “Which is all well and good if it keeps our people safe, but two men have already not come back from their attempts, and now Prince Gaston has thrown his hat in the ring, so to speak.”

“Prince Gaston? Isn’t he from the Rose kingdom?”

“Heir to the Gilded Rose Throne,” Belle confirmed.

“But why would the King’s son be all the way out here? I thought we were miles away.”

Belle wiggled an arm free from her cocoon and picked up the thick stick she was using to stoke the flames. She drew a small square in the dirt between them. “This is Avonlea, yes? Here is the Rose kingdom,” she said, drawing a line a much bigger square a few inches from Avonlea. “And here is the Midas kingdom,” she drew another square so Avonlea was in between.

“You mean Avonlea doesn’t belong to any king?”

“It very nearly borders both kingdoms evenly. We’re on the outskirts, kept safe by the Black Forest of all things. We’re small enough that neither kingdom really cares what we do, as long as we don’t cause trouble, and my father is wise enough to govern.”

“Then why is the prince here?” Baelfire asked.

“We’re large enough for market, and we have a rich offering not only of what we can make and use ourselves, but from the merchants who travel from the Rose and Midas kingdoms as well.” Belle drew a fourth square, apart from the other three. “The White kingdom has even started to develop routes that bring them directly here.”

“So the Prince wants to control the trade routes, and the trade between the three kingdoms,” he finished.

“Smart boy. Yes, that’s the crux of it, I should think.” Belle made a face, frowning down at the dirt where she had drawn her village. “Gaston will make a fine king, and from what I’ve been able to tell, he has no ill intentions or malicious ambitions.”

And maybe that was the problem when he had sworn he’d slay the beast for her: Gaston viewed her father’s proposal as a means to an end, a way to expand trade and make his kingdom stronger. Her was smart, sure, and kind, but he was as bland as a glass of water. Belle wanted passion, adventure and above all else, love. She could never love Gaston.

“You don’t think he’ll be able to kill the beast?”

Belle shook herself out of her thoughts. “Sorry?”

“You looked upset. You think the prince won’t be able to do it.” The boy frowned, his eyes turning to focus on the flames. He started to build up the fire for her again, and he reached out for her store of scavenged logs. “So you’re here to do it for him?”

“No, that’s not it at all.” Belle frowned. “My father won’t allow me to have final say in my marriage, so whoever slays the beast is who I’m marrying, and that’s that.”

Belle turned her head when Philippe let out a snort. She’d almost forgotten he was there.

“I figure if he’s going to insist I play by his stupid rules, he should have to, also.”

Baelfire regarded her warily. “So you’re here to slay the beast for yourself, then.”

“Exactly. If I do it, then maybe he’ll let me pick who I want to marry myself.”

Philippe started to pull at his reins and stomp the ground. He whinnied as he threw his head back, trying to free himself from where he was tied.

“Hey, woah, boy,” Belle cried, standing up. Philippe wasn’t a mare—he was a large draft horse that was as wide as he was tall. He was the very definition of sturdy, and he was given to Belle years ago due to him being unspookable.

Clearly something had spooked him.

“Philippe,” Belle cried, trying to get to his side as he started to buck. At least he wasn’t kicking yet. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

She turned to Baelfire, maybe to tell him to stay back, that everything was under control, but the boy wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he was staring into the trees with such a sad look on his face, such resignation.

That’s when Belle felt it. She didn’t hear anyone approach, but she could feel the heavy presence suddenly, like how her nursemaid would throw a heavy quilt over her head when she was young—it was a sudden dampening of her surroundings, and all she could hear was the heavy panicked breathing of her horse.

All she could see were the black shadows of the trees around her, and a pair of red, red eyes.

* * *

 

Rumplestiltskin disliked knowing his son was out in the forest on the nights he had to feed. He had never hurt the boy, would never hurt the boy, but it was still an unforgiving feeling in the back of his mind knowing Baelfire might somehow get caught in the crosshairs and be hurt.

That he could be watching his father at his most monstrous came second, but that wasn’t a great feeling, either.

Bae had told him about Sheriff Nottingham a few weeks ago, but hadn’t had the opportunity to corner him until that night. The slimy man didn’t often venture far into the forest, and Rumple didn’t dare take a step out of it.

When Bae had spotted Nottingham through the trees, he knew he had his chance.

It all happened very quickly; no time for pleading. He so hated it when they begged.

When it was over, when the sheriff was a mere husk of whatever deplorable man he once was, Rumplestiltskin had raised his head, and smelled for his son. Bae was close. Rumple didn’t like that.

He was led to a clearing where a woman was trying to calm her horse. Her clothes looked worn, but well cared for, but he had a feeling they weren’t her own. She held herself too regally, her shoulders too proud, even as she avoided being knocked to the ground.

“Woah, Philippe, it’s alright,” she pleaded.

No, it wasn’t. The horse knew he was near—animals were the best at sniffing out the monsters that hid in the dark.

His belly was full, his thirst sated. The woman wasn’t in any danger, and he’d leave (slink back into the black shadows where he belonged) as soon as he collected his son.

And there Bae was, warm by the fire, staring at him with his wide, brown eyes.

But then the woman noticed him. She turned her head, and he could see the healthy flush of her face, the silky curl of her hair. Her eyes, when they widened, were the exact shade of a clear sky, a color he hadn’t seen in years. Oh, but she was lovely, far too lovely for a sinner like him to look upon.

That was when her horse reared again, finally snapping the branch it had been tied to. It kicked its front legs, and it would have knocked the woman down and sped off into the woods if Rumple hadn’t gotten to her first.

He did it almost without thinking—in a mere blink of an eye, his arm wrapped around her waist and he lifted her (warm body, smelled like flowers and the smoke from her fire and her hair tickled his nose), setting her down three steps away before turning back to her horse, who kept bucking, not seeming to have realized it had freed itself in its panic.

“Hush, lovely,” he cooed. Rumple reached a hand for the horse’s snout, gently petting his neck until he settled. “Hush, I’ll not harm you nor your mistress.” The horse snorted, and shook its head, its eyes clear but still weary.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice pitched low and eyes still on the horse. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He could feel the woman listening. All her muscles were pulled tight and he could hear the solid, steady beat of her heart.

Rumple didn’t want to frighten her more than he already had, and surely if he turned and looked upon her again, it’d be too much for her and she’d attack. Either that or he’d throw himself at her feet and beg for her mercy. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“That’s alright, Papa,” Bae said just as the silence begun to hang too thickly.

That seemed to snap the woman out of whatever trance she had been in.

“‘Papa?’” she asked, her voice high and incredulous. “‘ _Papa_?’”

Rumple hunched his shoulders. His hand halted on the horse’s shoulder.

“It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the beast.”

_Beast. Monster. Demon. Take your pick_ , Rumple thought.

“Don’t call him that,” Bae snapped at her.

“Is this what you do, distract his prey while he comes up behind—”

“You were never prey!” the boy shouts, his voice cracking.

“Really? You chatting me up while he lurks in the shadows? Wait until I’m nicely distracted?”

“No, please, we were trying to help you!”

Rumplestiltskin remained silent, head bowed and eyes downcast. The horse had seemed to have fully accepted that he wasn’t going to suddenly go for its throat, so that was a nice consolation. What had the woman called it? Philippe? Fine name for a well-bred steed.

“Help me? How exactly is creeping around in the Black Forest after sundown down helping me?”

“You’re the one that’s here to kill my papa! Maybe we shouldn’t have done anything!”

“Baelfire, don’t say that,” Rumple said. The woman had every right to be frightened of him and lash out. It was human nature, the reflex to protect oneself. Rumple’s own reflex had been more focused on self-preservation and running but he’d be a fool not to expect some fight out of a woman like this. She was made of oak and iron, even a fool like Rumplestiltskin could see that.

“But Papa—”

“You made me promise, Bae. I’m holding you to it, as well.”

He looked at his son, meeting his eyes from where he was still sitting by the fire. The boy got up and ran to him, throwing his arms around his waist and burying his head in his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, my boy. It’s quite alright.”

Rumple braved a look at the woman. She was watching them with her eyes narrowed and head tilted in contemplation. After a moment, she ran a hand down her face. She took a handful of deep, steady breaths. “You shouldn’t have to apologize—either of you.” She looked to her horse, already dozing again. “I think I may have overreacted.”

“Nonsense,” Rumple said.

“My name’s Belle.” She smiled nervously, lips wobbly. Even that small gesture was enough to make him feel like he was standing in sunlight again.

He found he could only nod. Bae elbowed him, stepping out of his embrace.

“Ah—yes, this is my son, Baelfire. And I am Rumplestiltskin, though you may call me whatever you like.”

Belle’s head tilted again and he wondered if he said something wrong. It didn’t matter, as she had already changed the subject.

“What did you two promise each other?”

Before Rumple could answer, Bae piped up.

“That he’d only hurt those who hurt others.”

There was a long pause as Belle thought about that.

“Hurt them how?”

Bae wasn’t quite as forthcoming with an answer this time. Rumple sighed. His red eyes gleamed in the darkness.

He wasn’t who Belle could have pegged as a “monster.” He was hardly taller than she was, for one, and probably thinner. His frame spoke of someone used to skipping meals (she imagined he took great pride in how healthy his son looked though). And then there was how he stood: shoulders hunched, head tucked low as if expecting a blow. He clutched his son as if Bae were the last thing on this earth he could call his own. Perhaps he was.

“Alright then,” Belle swallowed. “You said you were helping me. Helping me how?”

Rumple and his son exchanged a look.

“You had a shadow,” Bae finally admitted. “It was someone that we’ve been wanting gone for awhile now.”

“No,” Rumple interrupted. “Someone _I’ve_ been wanting gone for awhile now. Bae has little to do with any of this.”

“I don’t understand,” Belle said, looking back and forth between the two.

“I listen, when I go to the market,” Bae said before his father could answer. “I listen and look for the bad people. Sometimes we go weeks and weeks without finding one. Which is good!” he said quickly. “Really, it is! But when I think I found one, I tell Papa, and…he…uh.”

“Hunts,” Belle finished.

“Only if such a thing proves necessary,” Rumple murmured. “I only want—I don’t—”

“You said you helped me,” Belle said again. She needed an answer about what happened tonight. She thinks again about the sound she almost dismissed, the sound of a man being knocked down. “Who was it?”

Rumple kept his eyes down.

“I’ll find him, if I walk the way you came, won’t I? Or will there be nothing left?”

Silence.

“ _Who was it_?”

“It was Nottingham,” Bae said finally, hand buried in his cloak. He kicked at the ground, not quite daring to meet her eye.

“The sheriff?” she asked weakly.

Rumple nodded. “He was following you. Had been for awhile. When I found him, he was crouched low, behind a tree.”

Belle can’t quite contain the shiver that ran down her spine. She just knew there was something off about that slimey man.

“That’s why you don’t wander from the road,” Bae muttered.

“Baelfire,” his father reprimanded quietly.

“No, he’s right. It was—it was foolish.” Belle took a deep breath, and then another. She decided her fire could use another log. “Come, sit down,” she said, gesturing with her stocking stick. “I won’t bite.”

Rumple looked stricken by her comment, but Bae snorted, so she counted that as a win.

“We really shouldn’t,” Rumple muttered, but Bae had already sat, happy to be by the fire. Belle was relieved he seemed to forgive her previous actions. As soon as the fire was good and roaring, she pulled her blanket back around her shoulders. She couldn’t help but note that the cold didn’t seem to bother Rumple in the slightest.

“So is your home here, in the forest, or do you have somewhere else to go back to?” Belle asked when Rumple had settled across from where she sat. Belle thought it was a calculated move; Rumple’s eyes didn’t appear quite so red when she looked through the flicker of the fire.

His cheeks were drawn in shadow, making his face seem longer, and with his long hair (it just brushed the slope of his shoulders and looked almost golden where he sat) he struck quite the image.

“We have a home,” Rumple said, hesitating as he chose his words carefully. “It’s in the forest.”

“How long have you been here?” Belle frowned. “The stories have been around for years and years. They’ve been told to our elders when they were children.” She leaned forward eagerly. “Just how old are you?”

“We haven’t been here that long, I swear,” Rumple said, holding up his hands. “We mostly travel around. It’s dangerous for Bae to stay in one place too long.”

“But that’s why you chose to come here, isn’t it, Papa?” Bae turned to Belle. “We’ve been here almost a year,” Bae shrugged. “Papa hoped that there would be a less chance of being found out, here.”

“The stories of the forest were already well-known, and there was so much travel to and from the village,” Rumple explained. “A perfect hunting ground for a monster like me.”

Rumple frowned, looking miserable. “But you said it was men from the village that I had taken. I didn’t know that so many of them actually lived here. I would have been more careful if I had.”

“That’s not your fault,” Bae said loudly. “It’s mine, I should have—”

“No,” Rumple interrupted. “Don’t you dare think like that, Bae.”

How heavy a burden it was, Belle thought, to be the moral compass for a man whose very survival counted on the murder of innocents. Bae was just a boy, but it was obvious how much both would sacrifice for the needs of the other. It broke her heart, just a little.

Bae shrugged, his whole body sagging. “We have to leave now, don’t we?”

Rumple reached out and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Leave?”

“There’s a price on your head. We have to leave.”

Rumple didn’t seem surprised to hear that. “Ah, for the men I killed. That would be for the best.”

Belle cleared her throat. “That’s actually what brought me into the forest in the first place.”

“Oh, yes,” Rumple said with a tight smile. “Bae had mentioned you had come to defeat me.”

“I could never harm you,” Belle said, meaning it. “Not now.”

Rumple swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Please believe me when I say the feeling is mutual.”

Belle smiled. Something warm started fluttering in her chest when Rumple smiled back.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Bae said then. “For everything.”

“Nonsense Bae. This is hardly your fault.”

“What do you mean ‘My lady?’” Rumple asked, voice suddenly rising in pitch.

“Besides,” Belle continued, ignoring him. “I never told you how I would defeat the beast, did I?”

Bae looked at her warily, no doubt wondering where her cheer suddenly came from. “No, I guess you didn’t.”

“‘ _My lady_?’”

“My name is Belle,” she said pointedly as she wiggled under her blanket for the pouch tied at her hip. She made a noise of satisfaction when she managed to get it loose. “See, Avonlea gets travelers from all over, right? A few months ago, I met a dwarf who had this” Belle said proudly. She untied the string and Bae leaned over to see what was inside, eager despite himself.

“Powder,” he decided. It seemed to glow in the low light.

“That’s not—that can’t be fairy dust,” Rumple said.

Belle shot him a smile. “It can indeed.”

Rumple was momentarily speechless. “But fairy dust is said to aid in breaking curses. I’m not cursed,” he said.

“And you’re not a beast, either,” she shot back. “From what I read about fairy magic, intent is a large force behind it.”

“Even I know how rare fairy dust is, m’lady. You can’t possibly waste it on me.”

Belle drew herself up, hands steady as she looked deeply into Rumple’s eyes (they shown neither red nor his son’s deep brown, but a rich copper in the firelight). “My name is Belle, Rumple. This dust is a powerful magic, yes. I think it’s capable of defeating the monster once we save the man. I rather think you’re a man worth saving, Rumplestiltskin.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” he asked desperately.

“Then we’ll try something else.”

“I can’t possibly ask you to—there isn’t any—but the—”

“Rumple,” she said. “Do it for your son, then. Don’t you think he deserves a stable life where he doesn’t have to go looking for bad people so his father doesn’t waste away?”

That was a low-blow and they both knew it.

Rumple whined, the sound high in his throat.

“At least let me try,” Belle pleaded.

He met her eyes. They were so blue. He looked over at Bae, who had remained silent. His face pale and drawn. His boy deserved so much more than him for a father.

He nodded. “Okay. I accept.”

Belle smiled. She stood and held out her arm, the bag sitting heavy in her palm. She overturned the bag and Rumplestiltskin bowed his head.

* * *

* * *

Rumplestiltskin remembers the face of every person he has killed. He makes it a point to look before he sinks his teeth in. It’s his way of acknowledging what it was he was taking, his way of honoring the life that would keep him going.

What right did he have, to deem any of them unfit to live? It was a question he never allowed his son to ask, much less answer.

It’s this that he thinks about as he feels the magic engulf his body. The sudden cloud that flares up from nothing enters his lungs, and by the time it is whisked away (it tastes sweet and tangy, like the memory of fruit), his head is spinning.

“Papa!” Bae cries.

Rumplestiltskin opens his eyes and is surprised that he is laying down. He is even more surprised that he can see the sun just starting to rise over the gaps in the trees. He tries to sit up, but he doesn’t get very far before Bae’s arms are around him.

“How do you feel?” he hears, and when he turns, there’s Belle, face closer than it has ever been. He had been wrong, before: the sky couldn’t compare to the blue of Belle’s eyes.

“Good,” he manages to say.

Belle smiles and he suddenly feels too warm. His son his still hugging him. The sun is rising and he feels more alive than he has in years.

Funny that.

“You defeated the beast,” Belle cooed, running a hand through his hair. He’s not sure where the sudden familiarity is coming from, but her fingers feel like heaven and he doesn’t want it to stop.

“Wasn’t I,” he objected, unashamedly leaning into her hand. “You’re the one that tamed him.”

Belle hums, drawing back and letting him sit up. “Hardly any taming needed, I should think.”

“What now?” Bae asks, eyes shining and bright. He’s very nearly vibrating where he sits.

“Well, first thing’s first, we need to go to my father and tell him the beast is gone.” At Rumple’s worried look, she adds, softly, “He doesn’t need to know everything.”

Bae tilts his head, thinking. “You said that whoever killed the beast got to marry you.”

Rumple makes a sound like he had just swallowed his tongue.

“Yes, that’s right.” Belle says innocently.

“Are you going to tell your father that Papa did it?”

“No,” Rumple says, looking distressed. “Belle, you can’t.”

She frowned. “Do you not want to marry me?”

“Surely there’s someone more worthy.”

“Oh not this again,” Belle says, brushing his worry away. “The truth is, I’d like to get to know you,” Belle admitted. “Both of you. We can go from there.” She smiles, reaching out to brush his hair behind his ear. “I wouldn’t mind a long engagement”

Slowly, Rumple nods. “Oh, okay then.” Rumple said when he was able to find his voice again. “You haven’t led us wrong yet.”

Belle laughed, happiness buoyant and warm as she stands and offers her hand to help them both up. “Yes,” she says. “That’s true.”


End file.
